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I can feel Viktor’s eyes burning on me as the other man leaves the bedroom. When I rip a pair of sweatpants from the bag, I stop to quickly drag them up my legs. Finding an oversized shirt, I take off the one Viktor gave me and pull my own over my head.

I throw Viktor’s shirt onto the floor, and unable to handle being in his presence, I glance at the shut door. “Is that the bathroom?”

“Yes.”

“May I use it?”

“Of course.”

I dart forward, and when I’ve hurried inside and get to close a door between Viktor and me, a sob shudders from me.

Pressing my forehead to the door, I try to gasp through the horror of my new reality.

In a matter of hours, I’ve gone from happy teenager to being the future whore of the head of the bratva.

Sinking down to the tiles cries jerk my body.

I cry for the loss of my grandfather and uncle.

I cry for the loss of the innocence that will be taken from me when I turn eighteen.

Which is next week.

I only have five days.

Wrapping an arm around my waist, it feels like I’m breaking into a million pieces.

Chapter 4

Viktor

While Rosalie weeps in the bathroom, I take a seat on the bed and look at the documents Sacha brought.

The first thing I notice is that Rosalie’s birthday is much sooner than I thought.

There’s no way she’ll be ready to head out on her own by next week. She’ll need weeks, if not months, to process her grief.

I let out a sigh because that’s only half the truth.

Blyad', I’ve grown a conscience when it comes to the girl.

I shake my head and try to focus my attention on the documents.

I'll keep her until she’s twenty-one.

Three years.

A frown forms on my forehead as I lift my head to stare at the shut bathroom door. Just then, the sound of Rosalie’s cries change until it sounds like she’s struggling to breathe.

“Christ,” I mutter as I drop the documents and climb to my feet. The door only opens halfway before it knocks into something.

I step inside to see Rosalie lying on the floor, her tears forming a pool on the tiles. Red blotches cover her face and neck, a broken expression making her eyes look bruised and more vulnerable than my heart can handle.

Crouching, I take hold of her shoulders and pull her into a sitting position before I slip my arms under her knees and back. Lifting her to my chest, I straighten to my full height and carry her back to the bed.

I should tuck her in and give her a sedative, but instead, I find myself sitting down on the covers. I wrap my arms around her shuddering body and hold her tightly.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I try to reassure her.


Tags: Michelle Heard Sinners Dark